


Catch You When You Fall

by Christie_Cavedish, foreignobjecticus



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blood, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e08 Rumours of Death, Episode: s03e6 City at the Edge of the World, First Time, GPSC zine, Gunshots, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moving On, Surgery, Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29820417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Christie_Cavedish/pseuds/Christie_Cavedish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreignobjecticus/pseuds/foreignobjecticus
Summary: A little shore leave for Vila turns to near tragedy, but from the chaos comes clarity - Vila finds a way to move on from Kerril, and Avon finds an ally in Vila for his plan to avenge Anna Grant. Set after 3x06 City at the Edge of the World and before 3x08 Rumours of Death.
Relationships: Kerr Avon/Vila Restal
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7
Collections: The House Always Sins





	Catch You When You Fall

**Author's Note:**

> From the GPSC’s fanzine _**THE HOUSE ALWAYS SINS**_! Download the full fanzine [**here**](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1kX3N29d5B2Cdj3Ph00Cf8vwElL6FOPjJ/view?usp=sharing) for amazing art, great games, and fabulous filk. Join the _Gauda Prime Social Club_ Discord server [**here**](https://discord.gg/nvcHh8xTPe)!

“I’m just surprised you think Cally and I wouldn’t back you up,” Avon said honestly, spreading his hands before him, giving Vila a few brief moments of attention before he turned back to the work at hand.

Between his fingers he held the tiny, untraceable transmitter Vila had refused on his recent trip down to Keezarn — a trip that, had Vila not been as skilled as he is, could well have ended in disaster. Now it was to be repurposed, used for another dangerous mission, one that Avon had refused to explain to Vila or anyone just now. It wasn’t a pressing issue, after all, and he still had so much work left to do.

“Back me up?”

Vila drew up short and stopped pacing Avon’s workshop, his shoulders stiffening, hackles raised against the litany of painful memories that marched through his head once more: Tarrant’s violent bullying, the rejection, the few brief hours of nerve-wracking proximity to the Federation’s _second-most_ wanted criminal. To say he was strung out would be putting it lightly, but he had dealt with stressful situations before.

What Vila couldn’t get over was the opportunity he wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t been mistaking in letting go: Kerril, Vilaworld... Homeworld, whatever; the chance to start a new, quiet life, settle down with a beautiful woman, maybe even raise a family...

  
  


Even since coming back to the _Liberator_ , it had been easy enough to conveniently forget the reasons why he had chosen to stay, and in his more vocal griping moments when Cally or Dayna challenged him on it, it was only too easy to ignore the niggling pangs of sentiment that his crew gave him in favour of brushing them off with, “well of course there would be no locks on a new planet, wouldn’t there? Nothing for me to do”, and leave it at that.

Still, as the days dragged on after Keezarn, it became harder not to be bitter about his decision, finding precious little good in his life to justify it now.

“And whose side were you on when Tarrant was using me as insurance?” Vila cried, taking comfort in the familiarity of bickering with Avon. _That_ would have been something he’d missed, he considered, besides picking locks of course. “It wasn’t exactly convincing support!”

“I thought it wasn’t a point I needed to prove,” Avon replied, not looking up from his work.

“Yeah,” Vila scoffed, feeling more than a little hurt by Avon’s blithe dismissal. “You think it isn’t necessary to prove you care at all. Like you said.”

“Yes. And I thought you’d know that by now.” Avon looked up, put off his work by Vila’s tone. The thief was treading ground he rarely tread, laying blame on Avon because of _emotions_ of all things. It didn’t sit right with him, and it made Avon ill at ease just thinking about it.

“If you really consider me a valuable member of this crew, then what’s the harm in saying that in front of me? You know I like hearing you being nice to me.”

Avon raised an eyebrow but Vila didn’t wither.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Tarrant said you value me more than him!”

Avon sneered. He’d have to have a word with Tarrant later about privacy. Laying his probe down carefully, Avon threaded his fingers together and cocked his head.

“You have a tendency to be easily self-satisfied. Your ego and incessant gloating are already close to the limits of what another human being might reasonably be expected to bear. I have no desire to encourage you any further.”

Vila was momentarily shocked. His mouth curled first into a frown and then cocky smile as he straightened out Avon’s words in his mind.

“Trust you to wrap up a compliment in barbed wire,” he grinned at Avon, mollified for the time being. “Now that’s what I like to hear.”

“Yes, well we can’t have you getting comfortable on the ship; one more kind word and you may well think you don’t need to pull your weight.”

“I pull my weight!” Vila snapped back just as quickly. “I’ve been working harder than even these past few days—”

“Well that’s not quite up to standard—”

“—and I took your watch yesterday,” Vila punctuated his declaration with a proud nod. “Eight hour shift all by myself with no one to talk to. I didn’t leave the flight deck once.” That he’d spent that whole eight hours sitting on the sofas, miserably turning a special crystal over in his hands and thinking of Kerril instead of checking the scanners was irrelevant.

“My congratulations...”

“And you won’t even tell me why you needed the time,” Vila carried on. “Why are you being so secretive?”

“I wouldn’t want to give you the burden of knowledge.”

“Is it because whatever you’re doing’s not ready yet?”

“That is one reason,” Avon conceded.

“Why can’t you tell me before it’s ready?” A grin spread across his face. “You afraid you’ll mess it up?”

“When are we supposed to reach this planet Tarrant was taking you to?” Avon asked, diverting Vila before he could carry on any further. He was getting thoroughly sick of the questions he’d been fielding since they’d switched their shifts and there was still far too much to do before he felt it might be wise to share what he was planning.

For now, Avon thought, it was best no one knew; if Orac thought that nothing could be done, then he would drop the plan and his crew would be none the wiser.

Vila seemed only too happy to be diverted, gazing whimsically into the distance at the thought of the shore leave he’d managed to convince Cally he’d needed, and by extension convinced Tarrant and Avon too. It was only going to be a short stop — twelve hours at most — but after the time Vila had had on Keezarn, he’d take anything.

“Another twenty minutes. I only came by to see if you had Orac. I wanted to check the weather; see if I’ll need long trousers or if I can break out the shorts.”

“Spare me the image,” Avon drawled and picked up his probe again, spinning it between his fingers. “Orac is busy—”

“Isn’t he always.”

“—doing something for me,” he continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Why don’t you ask Zen for the surface conditions?”

Avon knew the answer, and he felt a little twist of guilt in his chest when Vila shrugged half-heartedly and ignored the question. _Tarrant_ was on the flight deck, which meant Vila would be anywhere _but_.

The young man had tried to apologise to Vila after Keezarn but from what Avon had been told, it had been insincere — or at least insufficient enough to do anything to patch up their strained relationship. So Vila and Tarrant had been avoiding each other as much as possible. For morale’s sake, it was working wonders; functionally, it had become a hindrance to everyone.

“So you’ll come down with me then? Since you’re finished here,” Vila asked, hope shining in his eyes and the giddy, vacant smile was back, plastered on his face once more. Avon would almost have smiled at the change if not for the fact that he knew Vila now; the veil of the simple idiot was as much his mask as Avon’s coldness was his own. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have given it much thought, but now that Avon knew exactly what was eating at his crewmate beneath the veneer, he couldn’t but help see through that simple smile.

“I never said that,” Avon countered instead, and it was heartening to hear Vila’s whine of protest bounce back on him immediately.

“Come on Avon! You owe me this much — after everything that’s happened!”

“You volunteered to go down to Keezarn and you didn’t take my tracer. I tried to help you.”

“Tarrant pushed me. You know that.”

“Tarrant is a fool.”

“So am I, according to you.”

Avon fixed Vila with a glare that was only half-felt.

“This is a very circuitous way of asking me to come down planetside with you.”

“Well,” Vila tried to look innocent, “it wouldn’t have worked if I’d just asked, now would it? I had to wear you down first.”

The smile Avon gave Vila this time was rare and genuine. Credit where credit was due, Vila did know just the right way to pull Avon’s strings. After all this time, how could he not?

“Alright, I’ll go with you,” he acquiesced, “but remember that you are wasting my valuable working time. _One hour._ ”

“With you, Avon, that’s a _lifetime_.”

  
  
  


Tarrant’s stride slowed as he caught sight of Avon next to Vila in the teleport bay, waiting for him to operate the teleport.

“Are you going down too?” he asked Avon, swinging himself into the console seat. Avon turned only a little, giving Tarrant a sidelong glance as he snapped a bracelet onto his wrist.

“Yes. Have you found us a suitable place to teleport down?”

“Zen’s set the coordinates. Ready when you are,” Tarrant replied, and his tone was only lightly condescending for a change.

Vila hadn’t been holding out hope that the bastard would end up feeling particularly remorseful in any way for his previous actions, but his subdued attitude of the past few weeks had been a nice change from the usual. He tried to be pleasant to Tarrant in return, and so far they’d managed to come to an awkward sort of stalemate. Mainly, they’d been ignoring each other all together.

“What’s this place called then?” Vila asked, snapping on his own bracelet and joining Avon in the teleport alcove.

“Heiden.”

“ _Geshunheit_.”

Vila smirked and lifted an eyebrow, looking Avon’s way. He seemed unfazed by Avon’s unamused scowl.

“It’s a _neutral_ planet,” Tarrant pushed through with a frown. “I visited once on a supply run about a year ago.”

“With the Federation?” Avon asked, voice going hard. “Did you run a scan—” He wouldn’t have been surprised if Tarrant hadn’t bothered to check the current state of the planet, but Tarrant cut him off before he’d finished his spiel.

“Of course,” he said defensively, and if it had been Vila who’d asked, he would have rolled his eyes. “Zen says the planet’s been on the same neutral standpoint since before the war. There’s no indication of any Federation activity. You’ll be fine.”

The look Avon gave Tarrant could have melted steel, but on the young man, whose diffidence to the situation was bordering total absence, it did nothing. That rankled Avon further. But there was no point pursuing it now. Instead, Avon simply patted his tunic, feeling for Dayna’s little green pistol concealed in his breast pocket and, satisfied, he waved his hand.

“Alright. Put us down.”

  
  


***

  
  


“Remind me again why you let Tarrant pick the dullest planet in the whole galaxy for us to stop at?” Vila whined, dragging his feet as they walked down the cobbled streets of Heiden.

All around them, the afternoon markets were bustling. The colony itself had detached from Earth centuries ago, long before the New Calendar and the rise of the Federation. It was evident in the way the place looked so much like the Earth Vila and Avon knew from history books, although it seemed more like a disparate mixture of cultures and time periods all rolled into one.

While the streets were made of stone, the buildings all around them gleamed in bright metallics, and shopfronts reminiscent of 17th century herbalists stood side by side glass-fronted boutiques and take away shops that were simultaneously dilapidated and yet curiously modern as if they’d be styled that way on purpose.

Avon didn’t know what to make of it. It wasn’t _boring_ as Vila seemed to think, but the place certainly didn’t seem to be promising either.

“Make the most of it; I’m only staying for an hour and then you’re on your own.”

“By the way this is turning up, I’ll probably join you,” Vila grumbled, idly picking up a strange fruit from a market stall and holding the thing up to smell. He scrunched his nose and hastily replaced it before the shopkeep made him buy it.

“Surely there’s something here that can hold your attention for more than an hour,” Avon spoke over his shoulder, eyeing a computer shop in the distance until he noticed the cathode-ray tube monitors flashing dimly in the window. Clearly the technology on Heiden had yet to catch up to that of their neighbours. Or maybe they just didn’t care enough to bother upgrading.

When Avon turned back to where he’d left Vila, he found his thief had disappeared. Irritation bubbled up his throat and he growled.

“ _Vila!_ ”

Avon pivoted where he stood, casting his eyes over the dense crowd and out towards the main shopfronts around them, hoping to catch a glimpse of Vila’s soft blue tunic amongst the sea of greys and browns. Just as Avon had turned around twice, beginning to feel the fool, Vila appeared from the doorway of a take away on Avon’s left, a cone of crispy, fried chips in his hands. Avon strode up to him.

“Hhhmm,” Vila nodded at Avon, munching down a chip and offering the cone to Avon. “They’re good, but need more sa _-a-ak!_ ”

Vila’s eyes went wide and he choked, inhaling half of a chip and coughing painfully. From the corner of his eye, Avon caught a glimpse of familiar black and green helmets. The regimented stomping of heavy boots made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. _Federation_.

“Then let’s go get you some salt,” Avon blathered as casually as he could manage and turned Vila around bodily, pushing him back into the little take away shop and over to the side counter where they would hopefully blend in with the crowd. With one hand, he thumped Vila on the back while his other waved a shaker of salt over Vila’s chips. The troopers marched by, hardly glancing into the shop, though it was hard to tell through their helmets.

Vila gasped for air, foisting his chips onto Avon and gratefully accepting a glass of water from the girl behind the counter. He drained it in one go and coughed some more.

“Thanks—”

“Why did you do that?” Avon snapped and then dropped his tone. “You drew attention to us.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Vila wheezed out and cleared his throat, moving out of the way of someone reaching for a bottle of sauce. “Tarrant said there wasn’t any Federation activity down here — _not that they were patrolling the streets!_ ” his voice rose, indignant and then he caught himself, leaning in conspiratorially. “What if they’d recognised us?”

Avon thrust the cone of chips back into Vila’s chest.

“They wouldn’t have given us a second glance if you’d not caused a scene.”

“ _Our faces are plastered on the walls of every barrack and FSA training centre from here to Gyraxion-18! They probably know us by_ smell!”

Begrudgingly, Avon conceded; he had a point.

“I think it’s better we leave now before you do something more conspicuous. Let’s get back to the teleport location and leave.”

“Why not right here? Let’s go, come on!”

Avon scowled and pushed him towards the door.

“If we teleport up here and cause a panic, they’ll know the _Liberator_ is in orbit. We need somewhere private.”

For once, Vila agreed with Avon.

  
  


***

  
  


The bustling streets seemed to have surged with even more activity after the troopers passed by, and finding the sheltered alley they’d teleported into proved to be difficult with so many bodies blocking the stalls and storefronts they’d used to navigate. By the time they’d found the alley, walking through the tide of people had become almost impossible, and Vila was grievously wounded when his chips were knocked from his hand and trampled underfoot.

“ _Leave it!_ ” Avon rolled his eyes and hurried Vila into the alley. Even just a few paces in and around the corner, the din of the crowds outside became muffled.

“I hadn’t even eaten half!” Vila cried in a hushed tone, but Avon ignored him. Raising his wrist, he pressed the comms button and called for teleport.

His bracelet chimed, Avon spoke, and the signal bounced.

He tried again. Bounced.

Avon tried one more time, holding the channel open without speaking, and when he dropped it the channel bounced yet again.

“What’s happened?” Vila asked, eyeing Avon’s bracelet like it had betrayed them personally.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be testing the bracelets. Here—” Avon pulled Vila’s arm up to his face. “Come in Tarrant! _Tarrant!_ ”

He dropped Vila’s arm.

“It looks like we’re stuck then,” Avon sighed and sneered at the sky, imagining just what colourful insults he could unleash on their pilot when Vila’s voice dragged him back to the alley.

“Avon?” he whispered, the quiver in his voice sending a shiver up Avon’s spine. He heard it too.

_Silence_.

  
  


***

  
  


The comms channel spewed out static.

“Try it again.”

“There’s _nothing_ , Tarrant,” Dayna repeated and threw her hand off the comms button in exasperation. “I can’t get a hold of them.”

Tarrant’s stomach dropped and he checked all their scanners again. Everything seemed to be working. They _couldn’t_ be lost. It had to be something to do with the bracelets.

“Zen,” he addressed the computer, “I want a status report on the teleport system.”

The computer bonked.

\+ The teleport system is functioning normally. +

“What about the communications?”

\+ All communication systems are functioning normally. +

“Detectors?”

\+ All detectors are functioning normally. +

Tarrant balled his hand into a fist and thumped it against the console.

“Everything?”

\+ All systems are functioning normally. +

Zen’s voice echoed through the flight deck and he barked at the computer to shut up, running a nervous hand through his curls.

They couldn’t have lost Avon and Vila. Not here, not now, not on a neutral planet!

Tarrant tried not to let the bubble of panic rise in his throat, but he couldn’t help it, and he turned white when Dayna spoke, already halfway off the flight deck.

“I think we should get Cally,” she explained, rushing up the stairs. “ _Something’s wrong_.”

  
  


***

  
  


When Avon and Vila crept back to the mouth of the alley, it wasn’t hard to confirm their suspicions; Heiden was quiet because the streets were—

“Empty,” Vila cringed, his hushed voice feeling suddenly loud against his ears.

The silence was eerie, like a heavy blanket across the street. It seemed like every market and square had been abandoned. Stalls were wrapped up and tethered down, shopfronts closed, their curtains drawn. And when Avon took a tentative step out of the alley and into the open, he recognised the weight of the silence.

“The electromagnetic activity...” he muttered, eyes dancing across the metallic houses above them, noting the old-fashioned aerials attached to every rooftop.

“Eh?”

“They’ve turned off the electricity,” he explained, taking another cautious step out.

“Why would they do that?” Vila hissed back quietly, following Avon, crouched, ready to bolt at the first thing that moved in his peripheral vision. He didn’t like it at all. His own instincts told him something was wrong; it was too quiet, like the calm before a storm.

By long-practised teamwork, the two of them crept quickly across the road, watching each other’s backs, ears pricked for any sound from either end of the street. But there was nothing to be heard and even less to be seen. Avon pressed himself against the side of a building, hidden from view, and slid along until he was back next to Vila. The thief was staring forlornly at the squashed chips he’d dropped before — little more than cold mash on the ground now.

“We need to find somewhere to hide,” Avon whispered in Vila’s ear, keeping his eyes on the horizon, alert.

“Why not just go back to the alley? It was out of the way; we could hide there,” Vila replied and pressed himself closer to Avon when the wind picked up. His heart stuttered like it had been a shout.

“Because we don’t know what’s going on,” Avon turned his head to look in the other direction. “The locals have all gone inside. If it were safe to be out here, they would be.”

Avon had a point.

“ _Then what do we do?_ ” Vila whispered desperately, ready to throw himself into whatever plan Avon had. He usually had one anyway.

“We need to get inside, somewhere where it’s safe.”

“Just pick a door; I’ll unlock it—”

“No,” Avon hissed and threw a glance back down the street. “We have no idea what’s behind those doors. If we go breaking into a house and the inhabitants are standing behind the door with a gun—”

Vila cut Avon off.

“Alright, alright, I get it. Then what are we going to do?”

The weight of the air around them changed abruptly, like something in the atmosphere had clicked, and they both looked up to the sky at the same time just as a sound began to fill the air.

_Rrrrrrrrrrrrrooooooooeeeeeeewwwwwww_

They both recognised that sound well and it struck a shiver up Vila’s spine, compelling him to run even though he had nowhere to go. Avon saw him jerk awkwardly, resisting the urge. He’d felt it too, after all; no one was supposed to be outside when the Federation called curfew.

Avon grabbed Vila by the wrist.

“ _Come on!_ ”

  
  


***

  
  


“Something must have happened!” Dayna cried, flicking again through the open channels by the sofas, but there was nothing coming through at all.

“They’ve turned it all off — short range, long range, even the emergency frequencies. There’s nothing! Maybe they were spotted.”

She tried to explain to Cally. The Auron stood beside her, eyes fixed on the viewscreen and the picture of Heiden’s main city floating at the centre.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said, staring ahead. Cally tried to focus her mind on the city, reaching out for Avon and Vila. They were still there, or still alive at least. “If they’d been recognised, the Federation would know the _Liberator_ was here. They haven’t sent out any pursuit ships.”

“There’s nothing on the scanner,” Tarrant confirmed in a low, bashful voice, like he was trying to be helpful while very much hoping he wouldn’t be noticed. “Nothing leaving, or going in, for that matter.”

Dayna scoffed a little in disbelief.

“A complete shutdown...”

Cally turned abruptly and left the Flight Deck, making her way swiftly to the teleport room where Avon had left Orac alone from his morning’s work. She crossed to the computer and slotted its key into place, infinitely thankful that Avon had left it with them.

“Orac—”

“What?” the computer snapped, and Cally leaned in.

“Avon and Vila are in danger. I need you to run a scan...”

  
  


***

  
  


Avon wasn’t sure of the risk they were running now, darting through the streets, seeking some form of shelter that he couldn’t define in his panic. The Alpha domes on Earth had rarely ever had curfews called, and he’d never been outside for one.

Vila, on the other hand, knew the danger well. Curfews had been used liberally on the Deltas, and because of that, the stories of what it meant to get caught had circulated in horrifying and fantastic forms, detailing the great punishments and tortures that awaited any poor person caught outside by the time the sirens rang. Being a smart man, Vila had never stayed outside long enough to find out personally. Instead, when the troopers came, you went and hid with whoever you were closest to: friends, family, even the pub if you were too far from home. The curfews had been random and unpredictable, creating fear among the Deltas and limiting movement; no one wanted to be caught too far from home in case a curfew lasted all night or even days.

Which was why Vila, more than Avon, could feel the cold sweat running down his neck, and his fingers itched to open any of the doors they slipped past in the back alleys. _Anything_ would be better than being outside now, and the deeply ingrained fear in his heart was beginning to paralyse him.

“There’s nothing here!” Vila cried as he nearly crashed into Avon’s back. The other man had stopped short of the end of the latest alley and was peering around the corner cautiously, listening hard for any sign of movement around them. “Let’s just pick a door and take the chance,” he begged, but Avon didn’t budge.

“No. Follow me.”

It was only trust that let Vila’s legs keep moving after Avon now. He had no idea what the plan was, but anywhere with Avon would be safer than alone, he hoped. Crossing another street, Avon seemed to be winding them closer and closer to the city centre. The thought terrified Vila.

“Where are we going?” he finally asked, ducking behind a wall with Avon as they reached another block closer to the centre. They hadn’t heard or seen any guards yet, but that just made them both more uneasy.

“If we can find a public building with a computer system, we might be able to get a message out to the _Liberator_ ,” Avon finally explained. “And with any luck, it will be recently abandoned.”

Avon was panting a little now, crouched on his haunches beside Vila looking anxious and alert.

Clearly, Avon knew the unpredictability of the situation too. Being trapped somewhere with no food or water and no way to communicate with the ship would be a death sentence if the curfew went on, and they had no guarantee whether the _Liberator_ would be back in a few minutes or a few hours. Avon’s plan made sense, and so Vila nodded, accepting.

They paused for breath for only a minute, each trying and failing to mute their ragged breaths, on the alert for sounds besides the oscillating, terrifying wail of the curfew siren. As they wound closer to the city centre, it grew louder and louder still, echoing off the solid metal buildings and down the acoustic stone streets. It was the perfect place to use sonic weapons against the people, Avon thought as he peered down a lane before darting past it and beckoning Vila to follow; the whole city was like a maze of echo chambers, amplifying the sound until it was near deafening. It only grew louder as they neared the siren, beginning to physically beat against their eardrums. If he didn’t need to be on the alert for guards, Avon would have been tempted to clap his hands over his ears against the noise.

At last they found a promising building and Avon drew up short at the edge of a small plaza, signalling for Vila to stop behind him. Peering forward carefully, Avon looked towards the clearing and found a squad of guards blocking their way. In the street sat a number of carts similar to those they’d seen in the market before. A guard had pulled back the tarpaulin on one and was biting into a piece of fruit stolen from within. He chewed the flesh, and then made a face and hurled the unfinished piece to the ground.

Vila’s hand tapping gently on his shoulder brought Avon back to the moment and he leaned back.

“Guards are coming up behind us,” Vila hissed in his ear. The thief’s usual panic had ebbed out of him as the true danger of their situation dawned, and though he was beginning to feel like a trapped animal, Vila held his cool, survival instincts overtaking the urge to run blindly for his life. He didn’t know how long his control would last.

Avon looked back to the street and found the guard he’d been watching was gone. Another glance down the other side showed the way was clear, although footsteps still sounded around them, impossible to tell where from in the echoing streets. Avon grasped Vila by the shoulders and pulled him forward.

“You see that door on the side?” he asked, guiding Vila’s sight by a twitch of his head and his hands on his torso. Vila nodded.

The side door to the building was visible just beyond a curve in the alley across the street from them. Vila could tell from a mile away that the lock on the door was weak and easily broken in to, and it was unlikely that an alarm, should there be one, would be heard over the noise around them.

Vila nodded again, this time more surely, and pulled his lockpick probe from his sleeve.

“I can have it open in ten seconds,” he assured Avon, and the man behind him whispered back into his ear,

“Make it five.”

With one more look to make sure the coast was clear, Avon darted across the road and flung himself against the building, turning to make sure Vila was after him. He was.

_And so was a Federation trooper._

One lonely black figure had crept up to them in the alley they’d hidden in, and as Vila bolted swiftly across the road, he caught sight of the horror on Avon’s face and tripped, stumbling on the stone road with a shout that rang out unheard. Vila made it across the street by sheer luck, clumsy footsteps barrelling him forwards unbalanced, and Avon hurled himself out of his cover, grabbing Vila to steady him, arms wrapping around his back with the aim of hauling him out of the trooper’s line of sight. Even as Avon gathered Vila’s body against his own, he could see the trooper’s gun levelling on them, barrel raised.

Avon could tell at once that the shot that tore through him wasn’t from a standard Federation rifle, and even before he hit the ground, he was fighting to stay conscious. The blast tore through the skin of his back, rending muscle from ribs, and his right arm went slack. Pain screamed through his torso and into his chest as the air was knocked from his lungs in one choking thump.

He hardly even had the chance to gasp, nor make sense of the pain that made him see white stars before Vila had him by the waist and they were careening past the door and down the narrow alleyway behind the building and out of sight.

  
  


***

  
  


“Well Orac?” Cally asked, placing her hands on either side of the computer and added before Orac had semantic fit: “What have you found?”

“While it was a gross waste of my valuable time, I have investigated the issue with the ship’s teleportation and communication devices; the cause is external to the ship.”

“External?” Cally frowned and swung herself into the seat behind the teleport controls.

“As I indicated when you first bothered me!” Orac snapped.

Cally flicked a few switches and numbers ran across the nearest inlaid screen on the teleport console.

“But the calibration is not detecting any external interference? The planet’s atmosphere is registering as normal, and there’s no electromagnetic—”

Orac interrupted her, seemingly untroubled by the loss of the one man on board that could keep the computer’s hardware maintained. Despite its frosty nature, Cally never ceased to be amazed by the total disregard to which Orac took their safety, considering their safety meant _its_ too.

“The communications black out engaged around the planet is acting as a molecular barrier blocking all incoming and outgoing radiation across the non-visible spectrum.”

Whatever had caused the communications black out must have been advanced technology, more so than the planet could have reasonably been expected to have on its own, and that likely meant only one thing.

“You mean—?” Cally tried to wrap her mind around what Orac had just explained.

“That the forcefield is impenetrable, yes!” the box snapped back, its lights winking angrily. The implications dawned on Cally slowly.

“...which means you can’t connect with any of the computer systems on the planet’s surface. There’s no way to turn off the forcefield remotely.” She looked up and frowned. “We can’t do anything from here.”

  
  


***

  
  


Avon and Vila wended their way through the maze of narrow alleys that permeated the heart of the city, Avon stumbling through on legs that refused to give up though his mind told him he needed to rest. His heart was beating at doubletime, and a coldness stole over his back as he felt what he knew was too much blood drenching the inside of his tunic, the sodden velvet and leather sticking against his back.

He let Vila guide him, trusting him as they careened aimlessly — anywhere to get away, even though somewhere in Avon’s mind, he had the distinct feeling they were only going deeper still. The trooper that had shot at them hadn’t given chance, and while that was uncharacteristic of a Federation guard, neither had the time to worry about that now.

A few streets down, Vila was panting harshly, gulping for air as he carried more of Avon’s weight against him, and when he thought it was safe, Vila barrelled them into the alcove of back doorway, knocking over a stack of crates left from a nearby vendor. He barely noticed the clatter, pushing Avon against the wall and shielding him with his body. He helped Avon turn, holding him up as he scrabbled against the doorway, trying to rest but finding nothing to support him and no way to lean, so he clung to Vila, grateful for the steady arms that held him up.

Avon felt sick, and he swallowed down bile as he tried not to heave, the pain in his back spreading with every second he wasn’t running for his life.

Avon dug his fingers into Vila’s tunic, gulping in lungfuls of air and finding he could hardly get enough to stop his head from spinning.

“Vila—” he choked out, hearing his own voice as if he were miles away, and he wanted to tell Vila to run and leave him but was overcome with nausea and a shudder that he couldn’t control. He was _freezing_.

And then they heard it, what must have kept the other trooper from giving chase — gunshots. At least ten of them fired in rapid succession, but with weapons that definitely weren’t Federation. These guns shot percussion caps, and the _sound—_ the sound echoed with the projectiles, ricocheting through the alleyways, drowning out the siren and making it impossible to think. Any closer and they might have felt the sound of the bullets beating right through them.

Vila pulled at Avon, hauling his body upright and adjusting his arm under Avon’s, but the tech was flagging, lips parted and heaving unsteady breaths beside Vila’s ear.

“Let’s get out of here,” Vila croaked.

A few steps from the alcove, Avon’s knees finally gave out and he collapsed on the road, dragging Vila down with him. The thief cried out, voice curdling in pain, pulling his shoulder as he tried to wrench Avon up and catch him. He felt the muscle stretch and pop all the way up the side of his neck.

“Come on, Avon! We have to keep going!” he begged through a sprinkling of tears in his eyes, but the man in his arms only swayed, legs beneath him scrambling to find purchase.

When Avon pulled at Vila’s shoulder again, the thief collapsed, biting his tongue to stifle a ragged cry of pain. His fingers tingled, right hand gone numb.

The pounding of footsteps rushed towards them, echoing down the streets and into the alley, and Vila pulled them both back into the alcove, huddling together and pressing his palm against Avon’s mouth to silence his cry of pain. Vila curled around Avon again, pulling them both into a tight ball and he dared not breathe as a squad of troopers raced down the road. Their rapid progress grew louder as they passed, swelling and fading like the whooping of the infernal curfew siren.

Only when he was sure they had gone, Vila sighed, letting a modicum of tension from his muscles, just enough to unfreeze and lift his teleport bracelet to his face.

“ _Liberator! Lib- Liberator!_ ” Vila begged into a silent channel. His fingers slid off the comms button, smearing the metal with red blood, and he nearly wept when the signal bounced.

For the moment, it was silent, and in the quiet Avon dared to speak.

“Vila... I... “ he choked and coughed, tasting a smatter of blood against his lips. He didn’t know if it came from inside or out.

“Stop talking!” Vila hissed back, gathering Avon in his good arm and refusing to look at him. Now they’d stopped running, Vila was shocked to see the state Avon was in — blood stained his tunic, spread in a crimson tide over his back and soaked into Vila’s sky blue sleeves. He looked pallid, face like wax, and even though their running had made them hot, when Vila sought out Avon’s pulse in his wrist, his skin was cold.

“No, keep talking, stay with me,” Vila shook his head in frustration, unable to count the rapid beat of Avon’s heart while his mind was in a panic. “No, you need to save your strength — oh, _no_ , not that—”

“What do you want?” Avon smiled, amused, grotesque with the paleness of his lips and dull eyes.

“For you not to die!” Vila wailed and brought his bracelet back to his face. “ _LIBERATOR_ — please! Come in!”

The bracelet chimed out again and again and Vila’s panicking heart began to break.

“Please...”

“Vila?” Avon entreated, his voice rasping in his throat and he struggled as he coughed.

“What?”

Vila snapped, but when he looked down to Avon his expression was vacant, and it was clear he was only just keeping his abject panic at bay for the sake of Avon. Vila was shaking, tears in his eyes from the agony of cradling Avon with his strained shoulder. He was stunned, still frozen in with the disbelief at how quickly things had dissolved around them. They had both faced dangers before, but never like this, and with no back up, cornered and bleeding out, it was Avon who gave up first.

Avon reached up to his tunic, fumbling against his chest. With numb hands, he dug out Dayna’s little green pistol.

“I needed to tell you—” he panted, the words using almost more energy than what he had left. His throat was on fire, dry and aching, and speaking felt like he was drowning. He coughed roughly. “I’m glad you stayed,” he confessed.

Avon turned his eyes up to Vila’s and he held the thief’s watery gaze as he clicked the safety off the pistol. He clumsily pressed it into Vila’s hand.

“But I didn’t know when was the right time to say it—” his eyes closed as his voice trailed off to nothing, and Avon went slack in Vila’s arms.

  
  


***

  
  


“How was I supposed to know Heiden was under Federation control!”

“You could have _asked Zen!_ ”

“I did!” Tarrant shot out in defense, flicking a few buttons on the console in front of Cally and trying the comms again, just to be sure.

“And did you run a scan?”

“ _Yes of course!_ ” he cried and his curls bounced indignantly; he knew he’d blown it all the same.

There had been the niggling thought in his mind for weeks that maybe Zen’s information came from the now poorly-maintained post-War Federation files and not directly from communication channels — something Orac would likely have picked up on immediately had Tarrant had access to the computer, but Avon had been monopolising the insolent box for nearly a week.

Ever since the War, the Federation’s direct channels had been increasingly unreliable. It wasn’t hard to blame himself; he should have known. He _had_. It had been foolish not to check.

“They could be dead down there for all we know,” Cally said icily, and when Tarrant asked if she could just _sense_ them again, her glare almost turned him to stone.

“Alright, I get the picture,” he admitted and felt his shoulders drooping like all the energy had been sapped from him. It was his fault. He couldn’t deny it for a second.

Tarrant slumped, bracing himself against the console and looking over at Orac who sat blinking away, happy while he was being left undisturbed. They’d tried in vain to see if there was anything Orac could do to compensate for the barrier blocking the planet, but using the teleport through that kind of field was out of the question.

“We don’t know if they’re in trouble. They could be somewhere safe.”

Cally ignored Tarrant, turning her attention back to the computer.

“Orac, how large is the barrier around the main city?”

It took a few moments to respond.

“The barrier extends approximately twelve miles from the centre of the city.”

“So we could teleport down beyond that limit and go in by foot.”

Tarrant rose from the console slowly.

“But that’d be hours away. And we don’t even know where they are now. The coordinates Zen set for the teleport put them near the city centre — they could be anywhere!”

“Then it’s settled,” Cally pulled the key from Orac and turned back to Tarrant, standing firm like she were towering over Tarrant. “We’ll shift orbit to teleport you down just outside the range of the barrier and you will go in on foot, find Avon and Vila, and bring them back out for teleport.”

“It would take hours just to reach the city! And what if the barrier moves while I’m still down there and you can’t get me back up?”

Cally looked up at Tarrant and her cool gaze pierced him right through.

// _I’ll take that risk._ //

  
  


***

  
  


The night was closing in fast, and even in the silent streets it felt like someone was watching them. The siren that had nearly made them deaf was now gone, but the curfew seemed to remain — no one had returned to the darkening streets.

Vila looked up, gazing at the empty, boarded houses and screamed.

“I know you’re in there! I know you are! There’s got to be someone — a doctor, anyone! Help me!”

Birds scattered into the sunset at his cry, but the streets remained silent. No one was looking out for them, no one would help. No one wanted to risk their lives for strangers. Vila couldn’t blame them; he wouldn’t have helped either, not in their situation.

“Let us in — come on!” Vila pounded his fist against the nearest door, throwing a glance over his shoulder after every second knock. “There’s no Federation here — come on. My friend is dying. Please!”

Vila moved down to the next door, hauling Avon as he went, and when he reached the door he wiped his bloodied hands on his trousers and pulled out his probe. He stuck it into the side of the door’s activation mechanism, but his hands were shaking and he dropped it with a hiss of frustration. It was impossible to juggle Avon and the probe with his injured arm, and they both tumbled to the ground when Vila pulled his shoulder again.

From his left, Vila heard a single set of footsteps pounding down the street towards them, and mustering one last burst of strength, he hauled Avon up with his good arm and scrambled down towards the nearest alleyway where he found a cramped wooden shed.

Tears from the pain blurred in his eyes when Vila managed to pull the doors open, and he blinked furiously, knowing he couldn’t even wipe them away with his arm.

Inside the shed were a few water boilers for the houses above, and between the boilers there was just enough space to hide.

The running was getting closer. Vila grit his teeth and threw them both inside.

His whole body rigid went rigid when the footfalls hammered down the alley. Vila gathered Avon into his arms, pressing his palms into his back, hoping desperately that the bleeding would stop and that Avon could still be saved. When the steps stopped just outside their hiding place, he prayed that they’d leave Avon alone, and that his own death would be quick.

Vila squeezed his eyes shut when he heard the door to their shelter pulled open, waiting for the inevitable.

When it didn’t happen and a voice spoke, he peeked one eye open cautiously.

“You need a doctor?” a masked man towered above him, and Vila realised he wasn’t Federation — and he’d heard his plea.

Vila didn’t even have time to respond before the man shouldered his rifle and reached into the watershed, holding his hand out for Vila. He didn’t flinch when Vila took his arm, hands covered in brown, dried blood. Together, they gently took hold of Avon, each taking an arm carefully, and the masked man made no comment when Vila stumbled and cried out. He took Avon’s weight fully, and Vila let him — only reluctantly. The little green pistol’s weight pressed into his chest, reminding him of its presence.

“This way, come on,” the masked man said, and they shuffled down the alleyway as fast as they could.

  
  
  


Only a few streets later, the man halted Vila and paused, leaning against a wall to catch his breath. He was noticeably shorter than Avon, and it was clearly a struggle for him to carry.

“Just give me a minute,” he gasped out and lifted the bottom half of his black mask so he could breathe deeper. “We’re almost there.”

“Where’s there? A doctor?” Vila asked, eyes wide and face white against the darkness of the alley. He daren’t look at Avon now, but he could still feel a slow trickle of blood from his wound, and he was breathing — if shallowly now. He didn’t want to check Avon’s heartbeat again, afraid of finding just how weak it would be.

“Where else would I be taking you?” the man puffed, bent double, and then looked up at Vila with a grin. “Two more blocks.”

They scurried down to the end of the alley and turned when they hit a canal, following the sluggish water until they came to a row of grand, white houses lined up tall, side by side. The man dragged Avon and Vila across to a recess between the houses, deep enough to hide only because it was night. While they hid, he went down to the third house and pressed a button hidden high above the door frame. It made no sound, and in the hollow silence of the alley by the water, Vila trembled.

When the front door of the house opened, Vila reached for his pistol and he held it nervously in his sweaty palm, adjusting the unfamiliar weight over and over again. Crouched over Avon’s body, he watched as another, shorter figure came back with the masked man, and he lifted the pistol half-heartedly in defense.

When the figures reached them, the shorter man pushed the pistol aside without a second thought.

“Put that away,” he said irritably, his voice hushed as he instructed the masked man to take Avon’s shoulders, and together they carried him into the house. Vila scurried after them, scuffing up their heels, making sure he couldn’t be lost.

“Down the stairs, down the stairs,” the shorter man ushered them through the front door and down a pitch-black staircase hidden within a cupboard just beyond the front door. All three men crept down, feeling out the steps by touch alone, until they entered a basement. At the shorter man’s word, a light turned up, revealing a woman and another younger boy of maybe sixteen hurriedly preparing a make-shift clinic.

In those few seconds as the lights came on, Vila felt his clenched heart flood with relief and he reeled a little, stumbling at the foot of the stairs.

The shorter man came forwards as Vila dropped back against a wall, the stress of the past few hours catching up with him all at once. Finally being safe, even for the moment, felt indescribable, and he watched on with his pistol held only loosely in his hand as the masked man slid Avon onto a thin metal examination table. He could have cried.

“What were you doing out there?” the shorter man demanded of Vila and he jolted upright, not having noticed him approach. In the soft light of the room, Vila finally had his first chance to see the man who had helped save them — he was older than Vila had realised; white hair parted across a balding head and a dumpy figure. He had a scowl on his face, though his voice was soft like he seemed more worried for their safety than angry.

“I uh—” Vila started, but the old man turned, ordering the others around with short, precise commands before coming back to Vila.

“Come wash, please,” he smiled briefly and guided Vila to a basin in the corner, laid out with rough sand soap and a clean towel; a scrubbing sink for surgery. The old man turned on the tap for Vila and water gurgled forth, coming out almost scalding immediately. Vila hissed and flinched when it stung.

“I am Calon,” the old man introduced himself, adjusting the water and taking Vila’s hands in his own. “My wife, Sora, and sons Etin and Vin you have already met.”

Calon gestured last to the soldier busy removing his gear from his back. At his father’s introduction, Vin nodded at Vila. Without his hood on, Vila was surprised to see Vin was nearly as young as his brother. He nearly asked why someone so young was running around the streets at night, but it seemed like a question for another time.

“I’m— _Vestal_ ,” Vila replied, dazed, feeling his limbs begin to shake as the adrenaline in his blood began to wear out. Suddenly, the rapid beat of his heart felt too strong in his chest, and he was thankful for the old man’s perspicacity; he could feel his hands trembling as Calon took his fingers and scrubbed under his nails with a brush. Evidently he’d taught his sons to wash like this too — properly, ready for surgery—

Behind him, Vila heard the sound of metal on metal as trays of tools were prepared, and he turned his head over his shoulder to see Etin cutting open Avon’s tunic.

“What are—?”

Calon’s ministrations brought Vila back to him, yelping when he felt the old man tug on his arm. Little did he realise, Calon was distracting him, keeping his eyes away while Sora made a quick inspection of Avon’s wound.

They had seen these kinds of gunshot wounds before — Federation blasters, designed to be painful and kill slowly, deterrents against rebel insurrection. The longer their wounds went untreated, the more blood was lost. The harder it was to save the injured.

“Your friend—” Calon said, tugging on Vila’s arm again just to turn him around.

Vila reeled at the pain in his arm and grasped for the name he’d heard Avon use before.

“Chevron,” he gulped out, hissing at the sting of fresh hot water under his raw nails as Calon scrubbed.

“Chevron has gone into shock. He needs blood, and to clean the wound.”

“How do you—” Vila asked, stumbling over his tongue, babbling, and pulled away from the clean towel Calon tried to wrap around his dripping hands. “You don’t even know—”

“He was shot by one of the guards near the main plaza, yes?” Calon asked, and Vila nodded, dumb. The old man tilted his head. “Their energy weapons wounds are distinctive, cruel; designed to maim and injure rather than kill immediately. I have treated wounds like his before. There is,” he paused, wondering how much this stranger in his home could handle, whether he should tell Vila or let him wait and find out. Seeing the man tremble, he reluctantly decided on the latter. “He will stand a better chance if we get to work now. And your shoulder,” he pulled Vila’s arm again gently and watched Vila wince, “ it needs to be looked at.”

“No! No...” Vila shook his head but let himself be guided across the room, stealing a look at Avon as he went. Belatedly, he realised the tears on his face hadn’t stopped flowing, and as he was led further away, they picked up again. Looking forward, he saw Calon was leading him towards a door and he panicked.

“No! I don’t want to leave him, I—” he pushed back, and Vin came forwards to steady him before Calon waved his boy away.

“You can stay, but you mustn’t interfere, or I will have no choice but to sedate you,” the old man grew serious, a steel edge to his soft voice that brooked no argument. It told of a doctor who had seen this kind of trouble before.

“I won’t. I promise. Please,” Vila begged, one eye on Avon before Calon turned him away. He felt the tears brim fresh in his eyes, seeing Sora sponging the blood from Avon’s bare back. He shuddered and swallowed hard. “Please let me stay.”

  
  


***

  
  


“...A ...a....”

His weak little voice cried out in the silence of the night. Avon turned, the sheets over his body rustling. He couldn’t move; between the injury on his back and the lingering effects of the drugs in his system, he was nearly paralysed. He groaned and twisted his head with an awkward jerk.

“Where... are you?”

In the bathroom, Vila jolted, splashing water in the tub where he was knelt. At the sound of Avon’s voice, he dropped his bloodied tunic.

“Avon?” he whispered pointlessly and frowned, pushing himself up awkwardly with his good arm.

Vila returned to the livingroom to find Avon staring at nothing, bleary eyes open wide. He looked dazed, like he hadn’t quite woken from his dreams yet. Vila started forward, keeping his voice down.

“Avon, I’m here—”

“No!” Avon cried suddenly, and he scrabbled ineffectively against the thin pillow behind his head, desperate to escape the nightmare in his mind. “Leave me _alone!_ ”

Vila’s heart sank. He must still be asleep, he must—

“Sssshh! Avon—”

“Go!”

His eyes were still glazed over, unfocused, and the fear that flashed behind them seemed muted by the way that Avon stared, seeming like the world of his dreams was all around him, swallowing him whole.

Despite his protestations, Vila came forwards, gathering Avon’s hand and grasping it tight, stroking his palm to soothe him. Part of Vila’s hurt; he knew Avon was asleep, but the rejection stung. He cooed softly, watching more horrors pass behind Avon’s eyes.

“No,” he repeated again, softer this time, and tried to push Vila’s hands away. “Leave now—”

“I’m here, Avon. It’s alright,” Vila held his hand tighter.

“Before it’s too late—”

“You’re safe now.”

“ _Please... Anna..._ ”

Vila blanched, and when Avon pushed again, Vila let his hands fall away and drop to his lap, numb as Avon rested back against the pillow and turned his head from side to side, grappling with the tail end of his vision.

“Leave me...” he begged, “just go...”

Slowly, his eyes drifted closed again.

While he slept, Vila sat, shocked, and watched, terrified he’d dream again.

  
  


***

  
  


“It’s one thing risking Vila’s life for something stupid, but Avon’s?” Dayna said as she slapped a gunpack and belt into Tarrant’s hands. “You’d just better hope there isn’t another Bayban down there.”

“Seems unlikely,” Tarrant muttered. Dayna just smiled sweetly.

Once he’d secured his belt, Dayna handed Tarrant a clear data card and pointed towards the top.

“Heiden was under Federation surveillance for only a month before the War; its rich mineral deposits of tetrapasium-282 make it a valuable planet, but the problem is that only the local population can mine it with any efficiency.”

“How so?” Cally asked, looking up from where she was calculating their new coordinates. Dayna shrugged.

“Something about neutron radiation. The local population are supposed to have developed a resistance to it. Essentially, the Federation need Heiden’s mineral resources and they need its people to get it.”

Tarrant nodded in understanding. It was an old Federation manoeuvre, and he’d seen it on dozens of planets before.

“No sense in wasting mutoids; not when you can have slave labour for half the price.”

“And that’s why they started their patrols and curfews,” Dayna agreed.

“They’re not playing nice anymore,” Tarrant huffed and handed back the data card.

“Precisely,” Cally said, finishing her calculations and handing them off to Dayna — with the new coordinates for setting down just outside the barrier _and_ Avon and Vila’s last known location. If anything changed, or the _Liberator_ was forced out of orbit in a hurry, at least she’d know where to come back. “When you need to control a population, the iron fist in a velvet glove approach can be much more effective than brute force.”

Cally gave Tarrant a pointed look, undisguised from Dayna, and the young girl did the same. For once, Tarrant kept his mouth shut and adjusted the belt around his hips, trying his best to ignore the women.

Cally turned to Dayna.

“Let us know when we’re in stationary orbit and I’ll get Orac to operate the teleport.”

“Right.”

Tarrant looked up sharply.

“I thought I was going alone?” he asked Cally, but it was Dayna who replied with a short giggle.

“Going down alone and unarmed would be _stupid_.”

  
  


***

Vila sat on the floor in his soggy tunic, back resting against the side of the sofa, holding up the one solitary crystal he had kept in his pocket — the one he had kept from Keezarn.

It was the one he had plucked straight from Kerril’s fingers just as she’d been ready to toss it away.

She hadn’t known what they were worth, hadn’t even given them a second glance. But they had been the reason Vila was down there in the first place, and when he’d seen those crystals littering the ground around them, he knew he couldn’t stay with Kerril. He had to go back — not just for himself, but for the others too. Vila had tried not to think about it too much after that, but he’d kept this one last crystal, and it had burned a hole through his pocket and in under his skin ever since.

He’d meant to tell Avon why he’d stayed, but the timing just never seemed right.

Avon had been so busy since, locked in his cabin or somewhere deep in the ship, squirrelled away with Orac and blueprints and data sheets. He’d only been coming out for watches, but when Vila had gone to visit, he’d been the only one Avon had allowed to disturb him. It was flattering, thinking he alone Avon let interrupt his work, and Vila had come to think more of their time together; that maybe Avon wanted his company.

Even if they still traded gentle insults. Vila had noticed they’d been softer lately; the barbs worn down to nubs that tickled rather than stung.

It almost made the hostility of the rest of the ship bearable. Well, not from Cally — Cally was always kind, but her kindness was universal, and when it came down to it, it could even feel a little distant. Not that Vila didn’t appreciate it! Cally’s warmth was a beacon at the darkest of times, but that in itself made it seem...

Vila sighed heavily and dropped his hand, resting his arms across his knees. He didn’t know. Even in his own mind, he couldn’t begin to articulate the tumult of feelings that choked him up inside. If he could iron it all out, he’d feel so much better he knew, but everything was twisted and had no idea where to begin.

Getting Avon to come down to Heiden with him had seemed his first true victory in weeks, and Vila had felt ten feet tall when he stood next to Avon in the teleport bay, off to spend a little time together. He’d felt certain he’d be able to stretch it out, too — eke out Avon’s promised hour into two or three, coaxed to stay in Vila’s company for the mere sake of it alone.

The whole trip turning into a near-fatal disaster just seemed _typical_ now.

He couldn’t deny he hadn’t enjoyed some of it — running through the streets with Avon, working so well together and crouching shoulder to shoulder had been a secret joy he’d revelled in for the longest time, and he’d even taken a thrill out of holding Avon in his arms, but it seemed perverted and he sneered bitterly realising it had been this that had taken Avon to get there.

A tickle scurried through Vila’s abdomen, like the weightlessness before a sudden drop. He let himself glow in it, feeling his chest tighten, simultaneously warmed and wounded by the last thing Avon had said to him before he’d passed out:

_I’m glad you stayed._

Vila eased his arms down, wary of his stiff shoulder, and stretched his legs out in front of him. For a few moments he sat silent, holding his breath while he listened to Avon sleeping just above him. His breaths were steady but still ragged, sounding like they were catching in his throat. If it hadn’t been because of the damage to the muscles across his back, Vila might have found it sweet — that Avon sounded almost as if he were snoring lightly. It made him smile just to think Avon might snore at all.

Weary from the endless night, Vila let his eyes close slowly, sleeping a little easier knowing he was glad he’d stayed too.

  
  


***

  
  


Vila was awake after having snatched only the briefest couple of hours of sleep before waking, sore and regretful on the hard carpeted floor. He sat by the window, peering through brittle lace into the silent streets below. Every now and then troopers marched by, and in the dead of night their footsteps echoed for nearly a mile in every direction. It made Vila nervous, and when someone entered the room behind him, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“He’s doing well.”

“He is?” Vila asked softly, hiding his shock by turning from Calon to look down at Avon’s pale face.

He hadn’t looked at Avon much since he’d fallen asleep; the sight of him so sick and vulnerable and open was something Vila couldn’t deal with right now. His vigil over Avon had made it seem like they’d been stuck on Heiden for days. Every now and then Vila had pressed the button on his teleport bracelet and his heart stuttered in the moments between calling and the return of the cold, lonely channel bounce. Avon’s bracelet was wrapped around his own wrist too, for safekeeping. He wasn’t entirely sure Avon could handle the teleport if the _Liberator_ suddenly came back.

“You’re not from around here,” Calon carried on, and Vila was pleasantly surprised when he found an old-fashioned glass of something golden pressed into his hand.

“Good man. Always trust a doctor to know what’s best for a man’s health,” Vila quipped, but the joy was gone from his voice and he found it hard to keep the insincere smirk on his face when Calon stared at him. He hid himself in his drink instead, following the doctor to the pair of worn armchairs by the unlit fire.

“Thank you,” Vila resurfaced with a little gasp.

Whatever this stuff was, it was good; strong, and smoother than the synthesised drinks he usually got. He dove back in, chasing another mouthful and the buzz that would soon come to soothe him.

“You’re not Federation either.”

“Can’t a man be his own?” Vila asked obliquely, and it garnered no smile from Calon.

He leaned in, giving all his attention to his guest, and cocked his head pointedly.

“There haven’t been proper off-worlders here in months, besides traders; all Federation controlled. If I didn’t know better, I’d be inclined to say you two were spies.”

“ _Spies?_ ” Vila guffawed, but he felt his heart skip at the sense of danger and it only sped up when Calon nodded sagely.

“Or rebels.”

“Not us, no. Just— passing through,” Vila shrugged as casually as he could, but he was exhausted and keyed up again now, and bluffing was a game best played awake and stone cold sober.

“I’m not trying to interrogate you,” Calon smiled then, and it was the first time he’d seen the man do so, even in front of his family. “I’m just wondering how you’re going to pay for his operation.”

“ _Pay?_ ”

Vila followed Calon’s eyes across to Avon where he lay sleeping on the sofa, quiet now, healing. There was only a little more colour to his lips; his skin was still ash and the sweaty hair plastered against his temples black as space in contrast. The whiskey in Vila’s stomach turned.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a money-back guarantee?” he joked, but the words tasted bitter and he regretted saying them almost immediately. For once, humour wasn’t helping.

When he looked back up, Calon’s wisened face had softened and he regarded Vila with a more gentle look than he had before.

“He’ll live,” he reassured Vila. “I wouldn’t have wasted supplies on a dying man.”

Somehow, Calon’s deadpan humour worked better, and Vila relaxed a little in his seat. He took another sip. When his hand came back down, Calon was eyeing the two bracelets on his arm and he reached out to touch one.

“These rings—”

“You can’t have them!” Vila blurted out, then blanched.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“No?”

“They’re rather unconventional. Why don’t you wear smaller ones?”

“Smaller—”

“Around your fingers?” Calon lifted his hand to show Vila the golden band around his finger.

Vila’s stomach flipped again, but this time it was a giddy sensation and he felt himself blushing red to the tips of his ears. That got a laugh.

“I see,” Calon chuckled, and he stood to retrieve the bottle of whiskey he’d brought in with him.

“Eloped? That’s wonderful,” he nodded and topped up their glasses. Vila could barely keep his steady. Calon clinked theirs together carefully and Vila winced at the treatment of such priceless antique crystalware. “Health and happiness to you both.”

Vila muttered a weak thank you and feigned a sip at his drink, but it was beginning to make him feel sick and he hadn’t had any food since his handful of chips at the market.

He wanted to laugh at the doctor’s mistake — all the things he’d thought before his doze came flooding back. Hearing such things from a stranger made that same familiar flutter stir inside him, and it was only then that Vila realised just exactly what it meant.

So he _did_ laugh, and it came out high and choked, and Calon smiled at Vila like he were a lovestruck idiot, and maybe he _was_.

And then the weight of the crystal in his pocket felt as if it sat heavier, tugging down his tunic over his heart where he’d kept it stashed.

Vila took a sip of his whiskey slowly and he kept his eyes fixed away from Calon, but he knew the doctor had seen him hesitate.

“I’m not going to rob you while you sleep,” he said perspicaciously, “I’ve already had the chance.”

_So have I_ , Vila thought, but wisely did not say.

“What about a crystal?” he offered up. Yesterday, he would have been devastated to lose the thing, but now Vila found he didn’t quite mind so much, not if it was for Avon. “Would that be any good?”

At Calon’s confused look, Vila reached into his tunic, extracting the stone. He held it up for Calon to see. In the dark room, the crystal was a dull gold, much like the whiskey in their glasses. It didn’t look very impressive.

“You’ll probably have to sell it on the black market,” Vila explained a little bashfully. He didn’t think Calon wasn’t that kind of person, and even having a black market item with him looked bad, but when the doctor nodded, Vila was surprised. “They, uh, use it for weapons systems.”

“What would you say it’s worth — if I were to sell it?” Calon asked, and normally such a loaded question would have had Vila lying through his teeth, but he saw no reason not to trust Calon.

Still, he wavered. Vila turned the crystal over in his fingers, judging its size and clarity with his trained eye — something he truthfully hadn’t needed to do in years. Not since he’d joined the _Liberator_.

“I wouldn’t want to be cheated.”

_And you’re putting a lot of faith in me not cheating you_ , Vila thought. He decided not to lie.

“Maybe fifteen hundred credits — two thousand at a push, if there’s demand here. I wouldn’t know.”

“Nor would I,” Calon replied and abruptly downed his whiskey, standing up.

“That will be acceptable,” he said, and plucked the glass from Vila’s hand as soon as he’d finished his own drink. _Shame_ , Vila thought as the whiskey burned down his throat; he’d have liked to have savoured it.

Calon lined the glasses up next to the bottle on the mantel and when he turned back to Vila, he pushed the thief’s extended hand away with a huffed-out smile.

“Keep it for now,” he said, glancing at the man lying on the sofa by the window. “Payment on delivery, since you’re so worried.”

Calon crossed the room to look over Avon, and left alone, Vila slipped the crystal back into his pocket. His belly glowed with the warmth of the whiskey in him now, and though his cheeks were no longer red, he still felt them burning with heat as he replayed their conversation over in his mind.

“You ought to get yourself cleaned up,” Calon’s voice brought Vila back and he looked down at himself, cringing at the state of his soiled clothes. He’d tried to clean them before, and he said as much.

“I’ll have Sora bring something up for you to clean it,” Calon nodded, turning back to Avon. “And you’ll need to change Chevron’s bandages. Come,” he waved Vila over and set about showing him how to care for the wound.

  
  


***

  
  


It was silent in the house when Avon woke again. A few soft rays of orange light were shining through the shuttered window onto the threadbare carpet, making the worn colours glow. It was impossible to tell in that moment whether he had woken up to the dawn or the tail end of the day coming to a peaceful close.

As consciousness returned to him, Avon felt the burning sensation in his back that confirmed to him what his foggy mind was only dimly remembering: he’d been shot, and in the panic that had followed, Vila had taken him _somewhere_ , down a dark alleyway, into an alcove where he’d crashed to his knees and pulled his muscles, roaring with pain. And then he’d come to at some point, waking only briefly to stare up into harsh fluorescent lights and featureless faces above him. There had been a table, metal, _freezing cold_ , and hands pushing him over, a needle sliding beneath his skin. It had all been so terrifying, but he’d had no chance to scream or escape, bound nearly helpless in a body wracked by pain and petrified by drugs. He tried to resist, fighting savagely but worthlessly until he’d heard a voice.

Vila.

Avon had heard him, softly pleading, near at hand while his mind succumbed reluctantly to the sedative coursing through his veins. So when hands had pressed down on his shoulders, he hadn’t fought them off in panic because _Vila’s_ had been there too, holding him steady, telling him he’d be safe. And he’d trusted him completely.

Avon let his eyes wander slowly, taking in the unfamiliar room around him. With a twinge in his neck, he realised that he was lying on an old sofa, propped up with a thin pillow and covered with a few even thinner sheets. They were laid neatly across his body, tucked in tight, but did little to insulate him against the cool draft seeping in from the window. It hadn’t been particularly cold when they were down in the markets, however long ago that had been, so Avon decided it was probably early morning rather than evening now.

Somewhere behind him, Avon heard the quiet squeak of loose floorboards and looked up to see Vila paused, halfway through creeping across the floor with a glass in his hand. He had stopped on the squeaky board, face set in a pained grimace. In those moments of pause, Avon had a chance to look at Vila, and he noted with a sinking feeling the way Vila’s clothes were faded, colours bleached out in patches over his legs and sleeves and chest, and when Avon looked further up he was surprised to see the barest hint of stubble across Vila’s chin. In a sudden fit of panic, Avon lifted his hand to his own cheek, arm slowed by a spike of pain radiating from his back. He winced, but when he felt his own cheek only slightly rough and it relieved him to know it had likely been less than a day since they’d left the _Liberator_.

“Ssshh,” Vila warned with a finger pressed to his lips and locked his eyes with Avon, indicating the window with a jerk of his head. He carefully withdrew his foot from the creaky floorboard. It made no noise.

Navigating around, he made his way to the sofa and knelt, pressing the glass of water into Avon’s hands.

“Can you drink?” Vila asked so quietly, if the house hadn’t been totally silent Avon might not have heard him at all.

Nodding, Avon grasped the glass unsteadily and took a few sips. It was all he could manage before he found himself wanting to pant hard to catch his breath. He shoved the glass back into Vila’s hands and stifled a cough with the edge of his blanket.

“You alright?” Vila asked worriedly in his ear and Avon shook him off, mouthing,

“ _Outside?_ ”

“Federation. They took everyone out just before dawn,” he explained, and Avon let his irritation show on his face when Vila smiled and added: “It’s the kind of place Blake would have a field day on. Do you remember the siren last night? Militia. They were anticipating an attack on their headquarters. We—” he fumbled at Avon’s scowl, “—got caught up in it.”

Avon frowned and Vila understood.

“Don’t know why exactly. But the doctor, Calon, says they shouldn’t be much longer than a few hours. They took everyone before the sun rose. Headcounts, I think.”

Avon’s glance drew back over the shuttered window and he noted how the red sunlight streaming through the cracks had already moved. Dawn seemed faster here than standard, or maybe that was just his imagination. When he looked back at Vila, he met a pair of concerned eyes.

“You alright?” he asked again, but Avon knew, for whatever reason that had provoked Vila, it wasn’t the same question as before. Slowly, Avon nodded, though it might have been misconstrued as little more than an irritated jerk of his head.

“I’ll be fine,” he brushed Vila off, “the wound only aches.”

But when he looked up he realised that wasn’t what Vila had meant. He said as much.

“You were dreaming.”

“People do,” Avon replied automatically before he’d had a chance to think, but his stomach turned at Vila’s words. He worried he’d said out loud the thoughts that had been plaguing his dreams and occupying his every waking hour these past few weeks. And then Vila confirmed his fears casually, like he hadn’t even realised what he’d stumbled upon.

“Last night. You were calling out a name,” Vila pressed and Avon stiffened.

It was unnerving to think that his thoughts of Anna had consumed him so wholly that he had cried her name out in his sleep — and when he moved, he realised that the pain that surged through his chest rang so familiar now to that which had wounded him so long ago. It wasn’t entirely dissimilar, and it struck Avon as sickeningly whimsical that he should have a scar on his back now to match the one on his front, hidden entirely by the white bandages wound around his torso. Or, he realised with a twinge of nausea, that feeling might be down to something else.

He tried to sit up, and the motion pulled at his tender back muscles and he let out a pained gasp despite himself. Vila’s hand slapped over his mouth before he’d even finished drawing breath, making him feel a fool.

“Calon says they check the houses sometimes,” Vila said by way of explanation, though he didn’t remove his hand from Avon’s face immediately. A little part of Vila had frozen at the touch of warm lips against his palm, and it was a rare struggle for him to control his hands and will them to release Avon.

“Forget it,” Avon shook his head and plucked the water glass from Vila’s loose hand, taking smaller, slower sips. This time it was easier, though when he swallowed deliberately, his diaphragm pulled and ached just a little.

“Where is the _Liberator_?” he asked, attempting to change the subject, but there was a gleam in Vila’s eye that said he wouldn’t drop it. He asked again.

“Is it who I think it is?”

“Who?” Avon snapped quietly.

“Anna.”

The silence between them dragged on for a few seconds, and in that time, the distant shouting of some Federation troops came drifting in from down the street. Avon was momentarily frozen into silence and Vila stiffened too, but once their footfalls echoed over the canalways and past the house, they both relaxed. Holding in his breath had been a bad idea though, and as Avon let out his breath he jolted himself, stomach roiling, and he nearly cried out but Vila beat him to it.

“Avon!” Vila hissed.

“My— back aches,” he said, and while it wasn’t untrue, it felt easier than admitting that he was queasy at the memory of Anna.

Vila stood, and with a bit of manoeuvering he helped pull Avon upright, arranging the lumpy pillows behind his back in a way that hopefully wouldn’t press on his injury.

When Avon was comfortable, he straightened up and smiled dimly, saying a quiet,

“Thank you.”

“Thank you too.”

“For what?”

“What you did for me,” Vila elaborated a little bashfully and pressed the water back into Avon’s hands when he looked ill again. Avon couldn’t even sip it.

“Why?” Vila carried on, and Avon found trouble keeping up with Vila’s stilted statements.

“Why _what?_ ” Avon snipped. He sounded like Orac.

“Why did you take the shot?”

“Natural r-”

“-reaction yeah,” Vila nodded and gave a sour look. “Come off it, Avon. That line may have been enough to fool Blake but not me.”

“And if it’s the truth?” Avon asked, willing to stretch the point if only to put Vila off.

He hadn’t _meant_ to take the shot; he had simply gotten in the way.

That he would have taken the shot regardless was irrelevant.

Vila was silent for a moment, giving the possibility serious consideration, but he knew Avon was bluffing.

“I’m glad you did — come down with me, I mean. Not taking the shot...” he scrambled for words, feeling ineloquent and utterly inept. ”I wouldn’t have wanted to be here alone.”

“Misery loves company.”

Avon handed back the water, and Vila reached for it with his right hand and twinged.

“I thought you weren’t shot,” Avon asked, watching as Vila stiffly took to the water glass with his other hand and ferried it across the room.

“I didn’t. I pulled my shoulder,” Avon’s gaze didn’t waver and Vila added, “carrying you.”

Vila reached up and unravelled the drawstring of his tunic, pushing the shirt back to reveal a white bandage wound tight around his shoulder. The revelation shocked Avon more than he cared to admit, but the only thing that stayed his tongue was the confusion that came with this new knowledge.

He wanted to say Vila should have left him — he nearly did, but the sight of the bandage around Vila’s shoulder stayed his tongue and he could only watch numbly as Vila tugged his tunic back across.

He settled himself down on the edge of the sofa near Avon’s feet and leaned back, suppressing a sigh.

“It’s not serious.”

“Good.” The look he gave told him he meant it. “Thank you. Again.”

“Two thank yous in as many minutes.”

“Perhaps you are owed them, considering you could have just left me.”

Vila looked scandalised.

“No I couldn’t-!”

“You should have—” he gave in to the urge to say it, like poison on his tongue.

“Not when it was me who asked you down here. You wouldn’t have been hurt if I hadn’t dragged you away from your work.” It was only supposed to have been an hour.

“You’re a fool.” Avon let the words out before he’d thought them through and regretted them immediately when he saw Vila’s face fall. “Thank you.”

“No need. You’d have done the same for me.”

“Would I?”

“You did.”

Silence dragged on again between them, tension from so many different things making it difficult to speak or think. It was Avon who broke the silence in the end, and he only did so with reluctance, dragging practicality over himself as a substitute for the mask he felt slipping away.

“How are we going to get out of here?”

“Calon says there’s a few regular supply shuttles that leave from the port not far from here. We could buy our way on easily. They’re Federation controlled but it’s just civilians running them.”

“Well done,” Avon said earnestly, rubbing the heel of his palm across his eye. “But we don’t have anything to buy our way out with and I doubt I’ll get any access to a computer here.”

Sheepishly, Vila reached into his tunic and withdrew his crystal. Avon looked impressed.

“That solves one problem.”

Vila shrugged his good shoulder. It wouldn’t have been beneath him to renege on his promise and rob Calon of his fairly-earned payment, but Vila had to admit to himself that the thought _did_ fill him with something that he thought might be guilt.

“Not really; I already promised it to Calon. As payment. For you.”

“Then why have you still got it?”

“Payment on delivery.”

“Which of you was worried he wouldn’t deliver?”

Vila said nothing and Avon pressed his lips into the thinnest of smiles.

“I didn’t know you cared. Do you really want to sell it?”

“I didn’t know you cared.”

“Don’t play games, Vila. “I said as much to you.”

Vila’s face darkened, and in the dim room the shadows made him look older, lines on his face deep when he scowled. It didn’t suit him.

“It’s hard for you, isn’t it? Letting people in — letting them know you care. Damned if anyone else cares about you — all they’ll get is a cold shoulder for it at best.”

Avon looked wounded, like Vila had cut through something he hadn’t known was inside of Avon to break.

Avon heaved a heavy, reluctant sigh, bracing himself for a conversation he thought he’d only have to have much, much later. But now opportunity had struck, and the muted whispers they spoke in gave the topic as much gravity as Avon felt it should.

“What do you know about Anna?”

Vila shrugged.

“As much as Blake did.”

Avon’s face flickered with pain then and he jerked forward, a hand flying to his back, but he found it difficult to reach.

“What?”

“Back ache. My lower back,” he elaborated.

Vila slipped off the sofa and reached out to fluff Avon’s pillows but Avon waved him away.

“I need to stand.”

“Can you?” Vila asked, but he made no fuss when Avon turned himself and edged off the sofa.

His bare feet slipped from the blanket laying twisted around his legs, but when he tried to stand, he lurched forward and stopped, suspended for less than a second between sitting and standing before his legs gave out and he dropped back to the sofa. Vila caught him by the shoulders and winced along with Avon.

“Just sit for now,” he suggested, and Avon reluctantly pushed himself into the back of the sofa. By the time he’d stopped to rest, he was looking weaker than before, a smattering of red across his pale cheeks.

Vila sat next to him, pushing Avon’s pillows up into a heap beside him, and he looked at Avon expectantly.

“That better?” he asked in earnest, and Avon nodded, a little breathless.

“I— haven’t been injured like this since—”

His mouth was open to speak but the words wouldn’t come. It felt—

It felt _wrong_ revealing himself, after having kept his secret so long.

The tender look in Vila’s eyes cut him like a knife and Avon’s heart clenched. He looked away, feigning interest in some spot beyond the sofa where he could shield himself at least in part from the thief’s unwavering gaze. He wished Vila would stop.

“What happened to her?”

Avon swallowed with a dry throat and felt his neck aching, straining to keep his voice neutral. _Why was this so hard?_

“She was killed by Federation interrogators.” _Protecting me._

“I’m sorry.”

Avon gave Vila a dismissive smile, even though he knew the thief meant it.

“So am I.”

“What was she — to you, I mean?” Vila probed gently, sensing Avon’s reluctance. He knew if he didn’t push, Avon would stop, or say nothing more; change the subject or just pretend they’d never spoken at all. He wouldn’t let that happen. “Del Grant—”

“—was her brother,” Avon took up the thought, suddenly unwilling to let Vila pick up where Blake had presumably left off.

He wasn’t a fool; if Blake had told Vila, then he would have told everyone on board. He’d suspected as much when Cally had fixed him with those incalculable smiles after Albion. It had grated, knowing it was _pity_.

“Anna Grant was—” _my world_. He stopped, unable to fathom saying to Vila the words he’d almost let out. He started again. “We were going to escape Earth together, after I’d robbed the Federation banking system. The transfer was successful, I had the credits, but not the visas we needed to leave Earth. I went to get them, but the dealer I’d arranged them with increased the price at the last minute. I shot him. He shot me.”

“Your aim was better.”

Avon looked up sharply, but the look on Vila’s face was gentle and he smiled softly when Avon scowled, like he knew just when to speak and what to say. And Avon’s heart felt lighter for it, like it had when he’d confessed to Del Grant; the weight of his guilt shifted and shared.

“While I was recovering, she was arrested and taken in for questioning. She survived a week under interrogation, but she never talked. If she had...”

This time, Avon didn’t censor the thoughts that raced through his mind, finding he felt no need.

“She paid her life for mine.”

“You really loved her.”

He wasn’t sure if that was a question or not, but Avon didn’t want to think about it either way. He didn’t want comments, just someone else to know, to share the burden. He looked away again, absently passing his tongue over dry lips, wondering how to phrase what he had in mind: the plans, carefully drawn, and how he wanted Vila’s help, _needed it_ , and finding he could think of very little reason as to why he deserved it.

“When you interrupted me this mo-”

He stopped, realising his sense of time was off, but he was relieved to hear he’d been right in his guess.

“—yesterday morning, Orac was tapping in to the Federation’s interrogation reports. We were analysing the standard procedures, trying to predict the most likely manner in which interrogators would be sent out, who would be on call, the density of the complex itself and whether or not we could reasonably expect to teleport in or out at a moment’s notice—”

“Teleport?”

“—and whether the tracer you refused at Keezarn would be resilient enough to withstand upwards of a week if implanted subdermally; it couldn’t be ingested, of course.”

“Why not?”

“So if a person were to be arrested and taken in, we would know to expect up to a week—”

“Why a week?”

“—before they brought in a more specialised interrogator—”

“You want to talk to their interrogator?”

Avon’s lip quirked, holding back a sneer.

“I want _revenge_ ,” he snarled, and felt compelled to justify himself when he saw the look on Vila’s face. “It’s petty, yes.”

“Would you even know who did it? So many of their interrogators are nameless — just blood-thirsty thugs; crimos with a taste for it. They don’t last long; learn too many secrets and the Federation just wipes them out.”

It was disconcerting to see Vila worked up so readily, realising his shining eyes held the tinge of raw panic only personal experience could brew. It tightened Avon’s chest and he felt himself heaving for breaths with much more effort than before, the air rasping in and out of his lungs, loud in the silent room.

“Not this name,” Avon shook his head minutely and swallowed down the worry that hadn’t quit him since Orac had first dragged up Shrinker’s file. He gulped again and cleared his throat. “I wager anyone who has been and lived at the hands of Shrinker would remember him well.”

“ _Shrinker?_ ”

Vila choked on his whisper and nearly slipped from the sofa.

“You know him then?” Avon’s reply was quick and shrewd, and Vila had the awful feeling he was being pumped for information.

“Only that he’s bad news.”

Vila scrabbled, trying to see the sense in Avon’s plan, but he had to admit it sounded mad and so unlike anything had ever done before. Putting himself in such danger like this — it was nothing short of suicidal, and Avon had always been so careful about his health...

“Avon, you can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am—”

“I mean — there’s got to be a safer way to go about this!”

“Shrinker is a top Federation agent. There is no safe way to get to him.”

“Well, couldn’t Orac find him? And then we can just teleport down, slap a bracelet on him and—” Vila swallowed against the sour tang of fear bubbling up his throat, shaking with the terrible feeling he was tying his own noose, but Avon pushed back again, his voice rising to a high whisper.

“Don’t you think I have already thought of that?” Avon hissed, and his eyes flashed dangerously before the anger behind them faded, almost as if he were burying it again. He did it so well, his mood turned on a dime, and once the anger was gone there was only desperation left. Avon sounded nearly hopeless when he confessed,

“I need help,” _and I trust you_.

“And you want me to tell you it’s suicidal and stop you before you make the biggest and last mistake of your life,” Vila supplied, and Avon took his words for flippancy but the thief was searching him, eyes darting back and forwards across his face.

“I need _your_ help—”

“That _is_ help!” Vila cried and cut himself off short, swallowing his voice. “Avon—” he whispered harshly, “—people who want to live don’t mess around with a man like Shrinker. When you get assigned to his interrogation chamber, you might go in in one piece, but that’s not the way you come back out. Trust me: you wouldn’t look good chopped up into tiny little pieces. I like you as one big piece — I can keep track of you that way.”

“Vila, _shut up—!_ ” Avon hissed and his eyes flashed, glittering in the sliver of morning sunlight on his face. He reached out, driven to touch Vila for the sheer reason of needing to cut off his babbling; to get him to stop. He grabbed Vila’s tunic.

“—and listen,” Avon’s dark eyes held Vila’s until he saw the fruitless panic dissipate and he waited for Vila to nod. His hand around Vila’s tunic felt odd — physically handling Vila was something he rarely did, but in the intimacy of the room and with the need to be silent, he felt he had little choice. It had worked.

Avon looked down as his fingers wrapped in Vila’s faded blue collar. Up so close, he could see why it had looked so much lighter than before; all across his chest spread the faintest tide of dark yellow, the stain of blood that hadn’t quite been washed from his clothes. Avon didn’t have to be told to know it was his own.

And how could he ask Vila for help? After this?

Avon’s grasp slackened and the material fell from his fingers.

“Why didn’t you stay?”

He asked suddenly, driven by compulsion as he looked at the crystal still clutched loosely in Vila’s palm. Vila frowned in confusion.

“Eh?”

“With that woman. Kerril,” Avon elaborated, and her name tasted strangely bitter on his tongue, like ash.

The sudden whiplash of the conversation turning caught Vila off guard and he opened his mouth and closed it a few times, looking inane but too confused to feel it.

Avon was the first person who’d really asked sincerely. Who’d cared. And in the wake of Avon’s confession, he realised that Avon might actually understand a little of what he was feeling; to have loved someone, even briefly, and have lost the chance at that shared happiness. At least he knew Kerril was safe and probably happy. Avon’s girl was dead.

He was surprised Avon had even remembered her name.

He could have stayed, but Vila knew a part of him had already made up his mind back on Keezarn, even before the others had left. Kerril was... nothing short of divine; a little part of heaven with just enough kick to keep him interested. And there had been the promise of a whole new world out there — Homeworld, Vilaworld — the name hadn’t mattered so much as what was there, waiting for him — for them both. Kerril could have fulfilled any amount of his desires, and the unnamed ones he kept locked in his heart, Vila knew, but it would have come at a cost too high. Even for a thief.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to go with her,” Vila said eventually, sounding the words out slowly like he was building his sentence piece by piece, “just that I didn’t want to leave the _Liberator_.”

The way Avon was looking at him, Vila knew what Avon wanted to ask. He indulged him before he had the chance.

“Why do you think I stay?”

“Like you said yourself; you have nowhere else to go.”

Vila shook his head patiently.

“Think about it. I’ve had an out since we won all those credits at Freedom City. With money like that I don’t _need_ a place to go; I could live in a suite on Del 10 for the rest of my life, or buy a small planet.”

“That’s not nearly enough.”

“Doesn’t matter. My point is I could go anytime. Blake’s gone and I’m not rotting on Cygnus Alpha, so as far as I’m concerned, my debt is paid.”

“Is that what you think of your place on the ship?” Avon asked earnestly. “ _A debt?_ ”

“No,” Vila shrugged, and his voice held a rare quality to it that Avon somehow knew meant the thief was being honest. “But no one can guilt me into staying anymore. Up until yesterday, I didn’t think I’d get so much as a goodbye if I left.”

Vila’s whispered confession cut through Avon like a knife, and he felt breathless at the trust Vila was putting in him.

“Then I admit I fail to see what appeals to you on the _Liberator_. The only constants have been Cally and myself,” he said slowly, “and neither of us have given you much reason to stay.”

Vila’s stomach flipped as he spoke:

“Then you wouldn’t believe me if I said it were you?”

The silence of the city laid heavy upon them, and in that instance Avon’s head swam with thoughts, justification for the words Vila had said, piecing together the confession and trying to put it in a way that he could understand. He couldn’t.

“You don’t believe me then,” Vila said, cutting through Avon’s reverie, jagged, forcing the moment too soon.

Avon was rendered speechless, so as he tried to speak, his voice came out loud and he found himself with Vila’s warm hand over his mouth once more, hushing him.

Together they sat in the silence, listening for the sound of Federation, heartbeats thundering so loudly in their chests the whole room might have echoed.

All that met them was the sound of silence.

When it was clear, their eyes turned to one another and Vila slowly moved his hand, daring, dragging a finger over Avon’s lip. He leaned in closer and Avon sat, frozen. Meeting no resistance and with the adrenaline of the moment coursing through him, Vila slid his palm across Avon’s scratchy cheek and stole a kiss.

At first, Avon’s lips were slack and stunned as he let Vila kiss him. His stomach flipped, nerves racing through him when he came to the abrupt but firm realisation that this was good and yes, gods _yes he wanted it and Vila wanted it too_.

It might have been the lingering effects of surgery or the exhaustion of the past day, or maybe even he was just that slow to recognise what it had meant to him to have trusted Vila so strongly in the first place. But now that Avon knew he wanted Vila, it was like a fire had ignited in him and all at once he surged forward, kissing Vila hard and letting the thief’s tongue steal into his mouth.

Avon sucked, nibbling at Vila’s lips, overcome entirely by his sudden, fierce desperation; a longing for something he hadn’t had since Anna — but it was something different; something that burned brighter. Vila had always been so adept at fitting between the cracks, finding a way underneath Avon’s thick skin, making him burn again when nothing else could.

Hands crept around Avon’s arms, sliding, holding him steady against the sofa cushions as Vila climbed forwards — and then something twinged.

Avon’s cry was muffled by Vila’s mouth and he looked hurt when he pulled away. His face melted into a thin scowl, tossed so unceremoniously back into the harsh reality of being injured and, he flushed as he noticed, thoroughly unsatisfied.

“Did I—?”

“It’s fine,” Avon rasped out, licking his lips unconsciously, the taste of Vila all he could think of.

The ache in his chest and back, for the moment, had disappeared with the adrenaline surging through him, and a new discomfort was beginning to make itself known.

When he realised Vila was still staring at him expectantly, Avon was jostled back into the moment and he found he didn’t know what to say.

But Vila always did.

It was strange to be on the receiving end of Vila’s charm, Avon thought — especially when he meant it.

“So I’m not the only one who sticks around for no good reasons then?” he asked, and even whispering, Vila managed to sound delightfully flippant.

Avon smiled and nearly laughed.

“You’ve picked a poor time for revelations, Vila,” he said instead, and it was met by a grin he knew was bittersweet beneath.

“Wanted to let you know I was serious about why I stay. And as payback.”

“Payback?”

“For Anna, for telling me about her. For trusting me.”

“So you’ll help then?” Avon asked, and he pulled back when Vila tried to kiss him again.

“How could I let lips like that get bloodied and bruised?”

“ _Vila..._ ”

“I’ll have to think about it,” he said with a coquettish smile. “Been doing a lot of that lately. ”

“When— _if—_ this is all over, I’ll want to head for Earth. You’ll have to think fast,” Avon whispered, looking suddenly more vulnerable than before.

Vila had the better sense not to mention it, and he held himself back, forcing his gaze back from Avon’s mouth up to his eyes.

“I mean it,” he leaned in again, one hand creeping across the cushions to steady him. “I want to think about it. You’ve got to show me your plans. Don’t hold anything back. I want to see it all.”

“Of course.”

More careful of Avon’s injuries this time, Vila pushed himself forward and Avon responded readily, kissing Vila back with as much enthusiasm as he could muster in his current state. He felt hands moving up his legs as they kissed — thief’s hands that could, if they so chose, move up without the faintest touch. Avon was only mildly surprised when he realised what Vila was after, and he swallowed down a bemused chuckle by breaking away to gasp for air. His chest evidently was still not as recovered as it could be.

When Avon opened his eyes, Vila hadn’t moved away, his own brown eyes wide and open, searching Avon’s face, looking for a flicker of anything other than desire in his features. Avon noticed the hands on his thighs were only resting now, still against him, awaiting permission now that he found he hadn’t expected Vila would have wanted to seek.

It was a sudden realisation to Avon then that this was a new side to Vila, a side he’d never seen before. And he had vastly underestimated the man. Vila tilted his head, knowing Avon had figured out what he hadn’t asked with words.

“Not if you don’t want to, that is,” he continued as if his hands had already spoken their question out loud. “Although we’ll have to be quiet.”

The sound of troopers marching in the distance was brought suddenly clear to Avon’s attention, and he was mildly impressed Vila had been keeping an ear out when they were otherwise distracted.

In response, Avon reached up and, eyes flicking down to his lap, he very deliberately wrapped his hands over Vila’s and squeezed, sliding them up further to the crook of his hips through the sheets. He held back the urge to groan when Vila’s fingertips brushed against his stiffness, and found himself surrendering to yet another breathless kiss. It only broke when Avon shuddered, and he found he’d leaned too far onto his back.

Vila pulled back just far enough to speak, lips brushing against Avon’s.

“Come here,” he whispered, and Avon didn’t resist when Vila wrapped his warm hands around Avon’s waist, just below the tight white bandages, pulling him gently into his lap. The thin blanket tangled around his legs, but the effort of moving was strain enough and Avon was nearly winded, breathing heavily as he settled.

“Take it slow,” Vila purred against his ear, brushing his lips down Avon’s jawline, pressing kisses to the stubble.

Avon caught his breath slowly, belatedly realising the thief was tracing a finger across his exposed collar bone. He shivered at the touch, feeling Vila’s fingertips dip into the hollow of his neck.

Vila wanted desperately to kiss it, but the movement felt beyond him and his pulled shoulder muscles, so he contented himself with mapping Avon’s chest by touch alone.

He only realised Avon was watching when a hand came up to his own neck.

Avon ran a finger under Vila’s collar, pressing down on the sore, tight muscle, making Vila groan. The sound echoed through Avon, and beneath the sheets he could feel his cock twitch and swell, lying heavy against his thigh.

Vila rolled his head, leaning into Avon’s touch, and his hands drifted down to dance across the sheets over Avon’s hips. After a moment’s exploration, he pulled the sheets back, exposing Avon to him, swollen between his parted thighs. Vila’s hand brushed across Avon’s stomach and he paused, resting just above his crotch, tracing lines through the dark, sparse hair that trailed down to Avon’s cock.

“Can I—?” Vila asked quietly, forehead pressed against Avon’s.

He couldn’t quite bring himself to look up into Avon’s eyes — it would have been too much. The breath of the man skirting across his chin and the lips parted so close to his were already enough to drive Vila to distraction, enticing him, making his heart pound with anticipation. He couldn’t quite believe what was happening, what Avon was letting him do, and it felt like time was frozen as he waited for permission, waited to be allowed to have Avon in a way he’d never dreamed he could have.

Avon ran his fingers down over Vila’s shirt and bare forearm, wrapping his hand around Vila’s and holding him, controlling him. He guided Vila’s hand to his balls, and Vila cupped them in his warm palm, rolling their weight gently in his fingers.

“Please,” Avon gasped out loud and Vila’s lips covered his, stealing his voice away.

“Don’t speak,” Vila commanded between kisses, pressing his tongue between Avon’s lips, deepening the kiss and driving Avon to silent distraction.

“Here—” he ran his fingers lightly over Avon’s length, “—or here?” Vila’s fingertip circled his balls and slipped behind, pressing a featherlight touch to the sensitive skin between. At his touch, Avon shuddered and he jerked his hips involuntarily and hissed out in pain.

“There, gods,” he breathed out, feeling Vila’s warm palm clutch his hip bone and hold him steady, “ _please_.”

At the touch of Vila’s first finger, Avon stiffened unconsciously — his spine as rigid as his cock, and Vila retreated hastily.

“No—” Avon broke away and reached for Vila, squeezing his wrist and pulling him back. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded, and his heart stuttered when Vila pulled out of his grip. “Vila—?”

“Hold on,” the other man replied hastily, and he checked his pockets and then patted the sofa cushions down around him, sticking his hands behind the pillows. “ _Where did it go—_ ” he muttered unhappily until his fingers closed around the tube of antiseptic cream Calon had given him for Avon’s wounds.

Vila undid the top and coated his fingers, and when he realised Avon was watching him, he tried to kiss again to get Avon to look away. When Vila’s lips came forwards this time, Avon turned his head.

“ _Three?_ ” he asked, eyebrow raised, and Vila couldn’t tell whether it was in awe or defiance. He gulped and tossed the tube away behind him.

“Just in case,” Vila explained bashfully, but Avon didn’t question further.

With a few awkward tugs, Vila had his trousers down and his tunic rucked up, exposing his length already red and leaking. He fisted himself a few times, feeling himself surge against his palm as Avon watched him hungrily. He kept stroking, and while Avon was distracted he teased the tip of his forefinger against Avon’s hole, rubbing the slick over him and feeling his muscles flutter. When he relaxed, Vila pushed in his first finger.

Avon surrendered to the stretch, and as Vila’s first finger reached the knuckle he breathed out raggedly. His cock twitched, jutting stiff in front of him, begging for attention. He took a hold of himself, curling his fingers around his shaft, stroking long and languid while Vila started to build up a rhythm, dragging his finger nearly all the way out before sinking back in, easier as Avon’s hole tensed with him, greedy for more.

A second finger started pressing in besides the first and Avon forced himself to relax, shivering as Vila breached him. When he let out a cry, Vila tugged him back down.

“Shut up, Avon,” he murmured the warning and took Avon’s mouth with his, swallowing his gasps and muffling Avon with soft tongue.

Avon started to move, daring even with the strain on his back, and he ground himself down, dragging on Vila’s good shoulder to push, craving more of Vila’s fingers now he’d grown used to them spreading his hole. He wriggled, driving himself down, sucking little gasps against Vila’s lips, begging for more as the fingers inside him twisted.

When a third finger breached him, Avon groaned like he was wounded and his hand stilled. He relaxed as much as he could, patient for Vila while he crammed all three fingers into him as deeply as they could go, the stretch nearly too much. But he was greedy, and it was exactly what he needed.

Perspiration beaded across Avon’s skin, trickling down between his shoulder blades and stinging in his wound that was only half-closed over. Sweat seeped into his sutures and as he started to rock again, tiny dots of blood speckled his bandages, blossoming red against white.

Somewhere in between, Vila kissed him again, harder still, heedless of the grain of Avon’s dusty stubble rubbing his own mouth raw and red. He batted Avon’s hand away from his cock and took both of theirs together, stroking, fingers wrapped tight around as much as he could handle. Vila pumped slowly, working through the ache in his shoulder, feeling himself leaking over his fingers and slicking Avon’s cock with his own precum, smearing it between their burning hot skin.

Freed, Avon’s hands grasped at Vila’s head, holding him steady, and fingers threaded through soft brown hair when Vila _tugged_. His kisses grew desperate and the burning in his muscles only ached harder as he clung on, deepening the kiss, tongue in Vila’s mouth and cock in his hand, writhing and rolling his hips. Avon thrust slowly and stiffly into Vila’s hand, pushing himself into the thief, wanting to grind against him and feel velvet skin against skin, but his back twinged and stilled, letting the spike of pain wither away while pleasure surged within him.

Vila groaned and snapped his lips closed as he came, swallowing the sound of his pleasure as he spurted over his fingers, working himself dry, rubbing his cock against Avon’s length. He shuddered again when Avon’s hips stutter, thrusting helplessly upward. Avon was nearly silent as he came hard into Vila’s fist, his lips parted in a breathless gap that dissolved into coughs. He pressed his face to Vila’s shoulder to stifle them, still shaking as the hand around him squeezed, massaging out the last drops of pleasure from his spent cock.

It took almost a minute for Avon to calm down and catch his breath as quietly as he could, and when he was calm Vila sought out his lips and kissed Avon breathless again.

But now the gunshot ached, and a spell of dizziness made Avon break away and dropped his head to Vila’s shoulder. He only realised Vila’s fingers were still in him when they slipped out slowly, and Avon felt hollow at their loss.

“Thank you,” he breathed out by Vila’s shoulder, grateful for the brief respite it had given him from the pain in his chest. He didn’t know how much longer it could last; the dawn had risen, and their hosts would be back soon.

“You know I don’t want to agree to this...” Vila said quietly, unexpectedly, and Avon had to work hard to remember the conversation they’d left unfinished. There was hardly enough oxygen left in his brain, not for this. Not right now. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I’m not risking _your_ lives,” Avon breathed out and tried to lift his head but found it too heavy to manage.

“Only yours?” Vila asked earnestly, and the weight of his worry was carried in his words. Avon tried to lift his head again. This time it worked, barely.

“You’d break, Avon; it’s not a safe plan.”

“I never said it was.” His eyes searched Vila’s for a moment, seeking in their depths for something he wasn’t quite sure he’d find. “I’m not risking your life, or any of the others’. If it goes wrong, there’s no risk to you.”

Vila shook his head.

“You’ve never needed my approval for this kind of thing before—”

“I know.”

“—but you still asked me.” Vila reached out and ran his thumb across Avon’s lower lip, rubbing the puffy skin where he’d nipped just a little too hard.

“You care about my opinions.”

“I always have,” Avon confessed, and when Vila smiled, he found himself smiling back. “I don’t make a habit of it; caring about other people’s opinions only leads to complications. Most of which I can do without.” _But yours, Vila, yours matters more to me than anything else_. “What do you say?”

Vila wondered why Avon bothered to ask.

“You already know my answer.”

“That it’s too dangerous and you won’t go along with it?”

The dull light of the boarded up room took on a quality of its own, coloured blue by the fresh, crisp morning, making every movement feel lazy and slow. When Vila gathered Avon’s hands in his own, it was with deliberateness and care, and the comforting silence of empty streets around them made the words Vila spoke so softly into a promise that neither would forget. It was a moment, fleeting in time, even as it lasted an age between them.

“You know that no matter what you choose to do, I’ll stand by you all the way,” Vila whispered, the need for silence pressing now more than ever, as if the sanctity of the moment would break with a louder sound. “This is too important for you to let it pass. I know; I understand that. But I need you to know that even if there are people out there that you think deserve punishment, it’s not worth suffering or sacrificing yourself to achieve.”

Avon’s hand tightened in Vila’s and he looked down at them, tracing a thumb across Vila’s soft hands, across clever fingers that had touched him, unlocked him like Vila had a thousand locks before. And now he was open, laid bare and exposed for Vila to see. The thought should have terrified him, especially given the nature of the task that lay ahead. He’d opened himself like this only once before, and now he stood, poised for war, ready to avenge the one he’d lost. He’d never imagined he’d not face it alone.

“I am not sacrificing myself for just anyone,” he breathed, the words almost nothing in the air between them, and if he hadn’t been looking into Vila’s eyes, Avon might not have been sure he’d said them at all.

The glimmer that grew in Vila’s eyes was mirrored in his smile.

“Not for the living, I know.”

  
  


***

  
  


“Tarrant? _Tarrant?_ ” Cally’s voice came out high and clear through the teleport bracelet, and Tarrant raised his wrist to respond.

“Yes Cally?”

“Where are you?”

“Over the ridge to the east— I told you—”

“I’m on the ridge to the east; I can’t see you.”

Tarrant looked up into the glaring morning sun and squinted into the distance, looking for a marker within the expanse of arid, gravelly tundra.

“Can you see the dried riverbed?”

“The what—”

“Dried—”

“Tarrant, there are no bodies of water at this ridge.”

The young man took a deep breath and centred himself, using a technique Cally herself had taught him. It did little to calm him. He pressed the comms button again.

“Yes there are — look harder.”

“I’ve looked in every direction three times. There’s—”

“Yes there _is_ ,” he insisted, losing patience.

“Tarrant. I spent three years as a field—”

“And I was top of my planetary surface navigation class at the FSA. Now look to the sun in the _south—_ ”

Vila had never been so happy to hear Tarrant’s voice, and he nearly toppled Avon from the sofa when he jolted up, hearing two crackling voices coming through the bracelets on his wrist. The only thing that prevented him from interrupting their bickering then was Avon’s plaintive cry and the sharp beration he got for straining Avon’s injury.

“Sorry.”

“Idiot.”

Vila couldn’t help but smile affectionately.

“I’ll make it up to you later.”

He pressed the button on his bracelet.

“ _—if you— hadn’t— wandering off—_ ”

“ _It was— dark—!_ ”

“Cally!” he interrupted them and there was a pause for a few seconds before he got a response.

“ _—Vila!_ ”

The anger in Cally’s voice dissipated immediately and there was a click when they heard Tarrant’s open channel drop.

“ _Are— Avon safe?_ ”

“We’re alive and in one piece... or just about. Avon’s with me.”

Vila’s voice cut in and out on Cally’s end and she tried to explain.

“ _Few miles out— teleport— orbit— soon._ ”

“Alright Cally.”

Vila dropped the channel, assuming she meant they’d be teleporting soon and hoping she’d heard his reply.

“Our heroes,” Avon said sarcastically, a trace of his old self building up now the prospect of returning to the _Liberator_ was on the horizon.

Vila reached for the fresh bandages he’d left Avon holding tight and continued winding the white cotton around his ribs.

“That must mean the curfew is over. Calon and his family will be back soon.”

“Probably best we leave as soon as we can,” Avon said, their voices still soft even though there was likely no need to whisper anymore.

“You think you can teleport?” Vila asked, securing Avon’s new bandage tight, and Avon fiddled with the fastening immediately until he caught Vila’s scowl.

“There’s little choice.”

A tender smile crawled across his face and Vila refastened Avon’s bandages.

“I’ll be there if you fall,” he said quietly and swooped in to steal a kiss. “After Shrinker too.”

“ _Vila? Avon? We’re back in orbit. Are you ready to teleport?_ ”

Cally’s voice chimed through on the bracelets, cutting off Avon before he could reply, and he was silently thankful, knowing words couldn’t express what he felt. He watched Vila rise from the sofa and press the button on his bracelet.

“Hold on a minute,” he said, and dropped the channel, reaching into his skewed tunic to fish out the small, orange crystal from his pocket. Vila rolled it in his palm and squeezed, feeling the cool smooth weight dig into his skin, reminding him of the world he’d found it on and the person he’d left behind.

He didn’t need it anymore.

Vila placed the crystal down carefully on the mantel beside Calon’s whiskey and turned away. He nodded at Avon, and Avon held his eyes as he brought his bracelet up to his face and pressed the button.

“Bring us up.”


End file.
